


Command Line

by Definitely_Not_A_Ghost



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - But Also Not Really, Reader is god, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-06 02:25:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15876549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Definitely_Not_A_Ghost/pseuds/Definitely_Not_A_Ghost
Summary: You're you, minding your own business and living life as much as you can between work, school, friends, and family. After receiving hundreds of texts from unknown numbers, you begin searching for answers. You find it in a game, of all places. You help as much as you can.





	1. Chapter 1

It starts out innocently enough – a text from an unknown number.

 **2569440285: Hello.** [sent 10:22am] 

You stare at the bubble of text and wonder who it’s from. The area code is unknown, but maybe it’s somebody important? You plug the number into Google, half expecting it to be listed as a sales caller or maybe a distant relative or friend. Google informs you that the number belongs to Jenna Green (58) who lives in Athens, Montana. Odd. You don’t know who that is. You decide to ignore it for now – maybe they’ll figure out they’ve got the wrong number themselves.

You go about your day, then week. The text has been deleted and forgotten – a small blip of unremarkable oddity in your life. You’re busy. Not just physically, but mentally as well. So busy that when another unknown text comes in, you don’t recognize it as the number that contacted you a week before.

 **2569440285: Hello again.** [sent 9:51am]

You stare at your phone. Again? You wonder. You recall putting a number a week prior into Google. You do so again and lo and behold, Jenna Green pops up.

 **I think you have the wrong number** [sent 10:18am]

 You respond. Full words and all. But you leave out the period at the end because you’re obviously not _that_ angry. You continue on with your day. You forget about the conversation.

 The number texts you at 1:07 am that night.

  **2569440285: I am sorry. I just want to talk.** [sent 1:07am]

 It’s too late (early?) for this. you don’t want to talk to Jenna Green (58) from Athens, Montana at 1:07 in the morning. You have stuff to do tomorrow. You roll over and concentrate on drifting off. Your mind, however, is still worked up from the conversation. You end up dreaming about your phone, and your subconscious provides a face to the person on the other end. It looks like one of your teachers from high school. When you awake, you vaguely wonder why your sleep-addled mind chose that teacher in particular.

You end up thinking about the text for the rest of the day as well. It could be from anyone. A creepy guy? A lonely lady? It was ominous for some reason. No good conversation starts off with ‘I just want to talk.’ You’re tempted to reply with a ‘what’, but you don’t. You curb your curiosity. It’s just too weird. The whole thing. You delete the conversation, and you go about your day.

 But still it stays in the back of your mind. Every new text makes your subconscious perk up and wonder if its Jenna each time you check your phone. You’re on alert for that number for three days. You forget on the fourth. Remember again on the fifth. Then you forget again on the sixth and seventh days. And a week goes by and your brain stops wondering if every new text is from Jenna Green. Another week passes. And another. And then you get a text.

 **6174750385: Hello!** [sent 12:00am]

 Jenna Green, you grumble in the back of your mind. But the numbers all wrong. This one starts with 617, not 256. 

 **Who is this?** [sent 12:02am]

 You demand. It’s getting annoying at this point.

  **6174750385: My name is Michael!** [sent 12:02am]

 The reply is quick, mere seconds after you send yours.

  **6174750385: I am so happy to speak with you!** [sent 12:02am]

 You roll your eyes. Here comes the sales pitch.

  **6174750385: So happy!** [sent 12:02am]

You wait. But nothing else comes through. Apparently, this is Michael, and he is happy to speak with you.

 And you are thoroughly freaked out.

 Your first instinct is to change your number – which you do two days later.

 At first, it helps. There are no new numbers for a month. And then, as if by some cruel joke, they once again slowly start to trickle through; one or two a day, sometimes three all at once.

 **2839454448: Hello!** [sent 1:37pm]

 **3748325509: Greetings!** [sent 2:18pm]

 **1026742902: Hello!** [sent 5:05pm]

 **3775924993: Hello! My name’s Cindy!** [sent 8:12pm]

 **8362042738: Hi!** [sent 10:10pm]

 **0294759227: Hello!** [sent 11:59pm]

 **5382042038: My name’s Gina! Hello!** [sent 12:00am]

 **0284727829: Hi! Hello!** [sent 12:00am]

 **8291023893: Hello! I’m Donny!** [sent 12:00am]

 **0100347758: Hello!** [sent 12:01am]

 **6174750385: It’s me again! Hello!** [sent 12:01am]

 **2874004961: Hi!** [sent 1:14am]

 **1428583487: So happy to say hello!** [sent 1:23am]

 **5751260486: Hi! My name is Francine!** [sent 2:01am]

 **7381878024: Hello!** [sent 3:11am]

 **0372875082: Please help me.** [sent 4:43pm]

The last one makes you pause. You’ve stopped opening the messages. You block them as they come through. Thankfully they’re typically just one line of ‘hello’ or some other greeting, so they’re quick and easy to spot and block. But the last one comes in as you’re scrolling through your photo gallery. It scares you. It’s different. Anxiety grips you – gnaws at gut. You turn off your phone, and stare at the wall opposite you. You don’t want to look.

You take your phone in to be looked at the next day. The phone carrier checks it out – sees the 6 new messages you got between the time you turned your phone off, and now. Sees your blocked numbers list. He believes you. But he doesn’t have an explanation. He says it might just be someone playing a prank. ‘Just’ a prank - but you’re thoroughly freaked out. He offers another change in numbers. You agree and decide to wait 24 hours before you tell your family and friends your new number. Maybe one of them decided you were in need of a thorough spooking. You’ll know soon enough.

You get 12 new texts in 24 hours from random numbers.

You call your service provider. They see your history. They promise to get back to you once the issue is resolved. You wait a week. You ignore the texts. Finally, you get a call back. They followed up on the numbers that called you. None of those numbers have ever called you.

You close your account. You change providers. A bad move, considering you had a decent plan back with your old provider – but now you’re armed with a new phone, a new number, and a new service provider. You start up your new phone. You settle it in with your desired settings. You change the background. You limit giving out your number only to the most important people in your life.

 Finally. After a stressful two months, you feel yourself give a sigh of relief. You go to bed that night feeling better than you have in a while. The sheets are warm, your pillow cool, and you feel soft and comfortable. You feel your bed give a faint hum as your phone vibrates. A knee-jerk reaction of fear courses through you. You turn on your phone.

  **Work: See you tomorrow ;)** [sent 12:01am]

 A coworker. You feel your shoulders sag in relief.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 **1928379939: Hello!** [sent 12:02am]

A deep part of you heaves a sob. You don’t understand. Neither does your carrier apparently (nor do they seem to care about your plight). You feel like you’re under attack. Your mind is going into fight or flight mode. You’re angry at the unknown. You hate whoever is on the other side. 

 **What do you want? LEAVE ME ALONE** [sent 12:02am]

You sent the text out of frustration. Immediately after sending your mind catches up with what you’ve done and provides hundreds of unhelpful scenarios about what will happen next – almost all end with death. Because obviously, you will be killed. The numbers now have your location somehow and are coming to kill you. A stalker is trying to kill you. Someone hired a hitman. Some random website on the deep web that you once watched a documentary on is going to kill you. Your family is going to die. The coworker who sent the first text wants to kill you. These are all very plausible scenarios. You feel the urge to cry in frustration and fear.

 **1928379939: I’m sorry.** **I won’t contact you again.** [sent 12:03am]

 **1928379939: Just... one question? Please?** [sent 12:03am]

You haven’t even finished typing out the ‘no’ when the question comes through regardless.

 **1928379939: Did I do something wrong?** [sent 12:03am]

You’re honestly dumbfounded. What a stupid question, OF COURSE they’ve done something wrong. You go with the obvious one.

 **U KEEP TEXTING ME. STOP.** [sent 12:04am]

You stare at the screen, daring something else to come through.

It doesn’t. 

You turn off your phone and barely keep yourself from hurling it across the room.

You have 4 new messages come morning.

You stop blocking them in the end. You acclimate. You ignore them. This is the new normal. You stop caring about how annoying it is. It’s the best, and only thing, that you can do (aside from not having a phone at all).

But like most situations where you have no control at all, things only got worse. 

* * *

 A few weeks pass. One of the numbers sends a food selfie. It’s literally just a picture of what they made for dinner, and a set table – nothing that impressive. Looked like some kind of pasta... ball? It was very cheesy. Literally and figuratively. The picture had been taken from what looked like eye level (was the phone right up in their face?) and the lighting was not the best, so if they were going for artistic, they missed the mark.

At this point in time, the numbers had become background noise. You tap on the screen.

 **Looks nice.** [sent 6:37pm]

You respond sarcastically. You don’t mean to egg them on, and you hope your snide remark doesn’t make them respond. But really. You feel entitled to the snark. 

Thankfully, they never do respond. Your phone, however, informs you that they have seen your text. 

* * *

 A different number sends you a picture of their dog. This photo is also taken from what looks like eye level and is trained on a Labrador attached to a leash. The dog has a stick in its mouth and appears to be giving a lopsided grin as it looks up to the person holding the camera.

You feel the corner of your mouth twitch up into a smile. You don’t respond. 

* * *

 It goes on like this for months. You soon realize that it’s the same fifty or so numbers that keep texting you. Occasionally a new one will pop up, and sometimes the old ones stop texting all together. They send pictures, one sentence messages, and an insane number of greetings. Whoever they (singular or plural?) are, they’re almost always happy to be having a one-sided conversation with you. One even thanked you – profusely – for leaving him on read; though you think they were being sarcastic. They were just too pleased that you acknowledged them.

A small part of you wonders if maybe some kind of... hotline mistyped their number on a brochure or website, and have your number listed instead. Maybe this is someone’s kink? Nothing makes sense, so any story at this point is halfway plausible. But... if that was the reason, then how did they know when you changed numbers? You sigh internally. There goes another explanation shot down.

A friend gently waves their hand in front of your face. “Hello? Are you there?” Your friend asks jokingly as you mentally shake yourself out of the dazed expression on your face.

Briefly, your stomach clenches with anxiety – you’ve seen that phrase in text far too many times. But the feeling passes. You remember where you are. You smile shakily. “Hello.”

* * *

 **2874004961: Hello? Are you there?** [sent 11:30pm]

 You are. You don’t respond, but you do open the text. You wonder if some of these people have suicidal ideations. Some of them sound lost or confused. You remember the one that asked for help, months ago. They had never texted you again.

 **2874004961: Hi.** [sent 11:30pm]

 You figure they’re responding to the read receipt.

 **2874004961: Thank you. For being there.** [sent 11:31pm]

 Again. You’re freaked out. A part of your mind reminds you that you have no duty whatsoever to whoever these weirdos are. You flip your phone over but leave it on until it naturally turns off. Everyone wins. Weirdo thinks he has a friend, and you don’t have to emotionally invest yourself into whoever it is.

 In the morning, you delete the 5 new texts from that number without reading them. Sometimes it’s better not to know.

* * *

 You’ve got an album filled with saved pictures from the weird numbers. They’re an odd collection. Vegetable gardens and big machines, birds, random furniture and rooms, the sun, the stars, hands, food, old houses, new houses, construction sites and various tools. Some objects look weirdly futuristic; others very familiar. No faces, though. Which makes sense – obviously they don’t want to identify themselves and risk getting caught. You don’t recognize the locations either, which doesn’t help at all.

 So you collect them. Tiny pieces of evidence – just in case one of them eventually slips.

 And they do, eventually. But not in the way you expected.

 You stare blankly at the screen as you move Connor around the apartment.

 You pull out your phone, and turn the camera towards the dining room table. You look between the image on your phone and on the screen.

 Anxiety bubbles up again. You search for the number that sent the photo. 


	2. Chapter 2

_There_.

The image details indicate that the photo was sent to you two weeks prior. You hastily switch to messages, and scroll through the remaining texts that fit into that time frame.

In the back of your mind, though, you don’t hope for much. You often delete the texts after saving the pictures that they send; and it appears that this is the case now as well. You’ve deleted whatever conversation the number that sent the picture had with you.

Mentally, you curse your luck. Deleting the messages had been necessary though – there were so many numbers and they all sent so many useless texts and it just clogged everything up and... _ugh_!

Your phone drops to your lap and you stare at the TV screen. Honestly... it could just be a coincidence? You’re like five minutes into a videogame; there’s obviously a rational explanation as to why the photo of a dining room table and a piece of the kitchen matches the one in game almost perfectly. Maybe it’s a stock photo and the developers just... used it as inspiration. Yeah. That makes sense.

You nervously pick the controller back up and swivel Connor around the room. You’re just going to sit back and enjoy the game – there is absolutely no reason to freak out.

Connor informs you that you have a 43% chance of success.

_It’s just a game... just a game..._

You continue searching for clues.

You forcibly immerse yourself in the story, and try to connect the pieces of information. Once everything is collected and interacted with,you think you have a vague idea of how to approach this situation.

“Hi Daniel.”

Daniel sounds like such a commonplace name – you wonder if any of the numbers introduced themselves with it.

_Nope. It’s just a game._

You inch the character forward, save the cop, and try your best to get the android on the edge of the roof to trust you.

Naturally, you feel your heart sink as it’s shot to pieces.

“I trusted you...”

A cold, clammy feeling comes over you – like it did when the unknown numbers first started texting you. Uncomfortable. Anxious. Afraid. You’re not exactly sure how to proceed when Connor strolls off the balcony. Some box in the corner of the screen informs you that there was an increase in software instability.

 _Is that bad_? You wonder. _Did I do something wrong_?

Despite just turning the game on, you ultimately decide to call it a night and head to bed.

 _Weird_ , is the only thing your brain can come up with as you brush your teeth.

You stop deleting the texts after that... just in case.

* * *

 **2874004961: It’s the afternoon! Hello!** [sent 12:18pm]

It’s the first number that texts you the next day. You recognize this number from the rest of them – some numbers send a ton of one-word texts, and this one is... well it’s one of them. Not only that, but your brain automatically picks up on the 4004 part in the middle; it’s skimmed the number so many times that the two zeros and surrounding fours are semi-ingrained.

You stare at the text and are reminded of the fiasco from the night before.

 _Nope_.

Your thumb is hovering over the delete button when you remember that you had decided to stop erasing messages last night. In the middle of the aisle at the grocery store you stand frozen, debating heavily with yourself. You are waging a war. No one else can see it as they peruse the shelves – your internal battle is invisible to them.

Delete and forget the weirdness... or...

You shuffle slightly forward towards a shelf to let someone else pass behind.

Delete and ignore, or...

You stare harder. The text glares back at you, flaunting its unassuming ‘Hello!’

But you know, you _know_ that that hello is anything but innocent.

Curiosity gets the better of you.

 _Screw it_.

 **Hello** [sent 12:20pm]

Sounds a bit robotic, but honestly who casually says ‘hey’ to the nameless, faceless weirdo that constantly sends cryptic texts. Or at least you assume they’re cryptic. You recognize the number, but you’ve deleted all the texts in the past, so you can’t quite recall.

 _‘I’m going to regret this’_ , your mind informs you the moment after you press send. ‘ _I’m going to regret this and die_.’

Naturally, that devolves into you placating your mind that everything’s fine, it’s just one text – which only makes everything else spiral out of control as you try not to have a meltdown in the cereal aisle.

 **2874004961: YOU ARE SPEAKING TO ME! HELLO! HELLO!** [sent 12:20pm]

_Not now, I’m mentally unstable._

**Yeah...** [sent 12:20pm]

 **2874004961: I always knew you were there!**  
                      **I just knew it! At first, I was not so sure, but**  
**I could feel it! And I felt like you knew I was there too!**  
**I have been wanting to talk to you for so long! But**  
**I have been happy just knowing that you listen to me!**  
**Thank you! This is amazing! I never thought...**  
**I mean, just... wow! This feels amazing!** [sent 12:21pm]

Honestly what the hell. _Who_ is this guy, _what_ are they talking about, _why_ are they writing novels, and... just... _what_?

You should have known this was coming, but honestly you did not expect to have this many questions right off the bat, three seconds after sending your first text.

Speaking of which... who texts that fast? It was literally three seconds.

 _Well you wanted to know_... a small voice in the back of your mind supplied.

Somehow you feel like you know even less now.

 _Well_... you think back to the picture of the dining room, and the android on the roof. There wasn’t a logical reason for those two things to be connected – surely it was all just a weird coincidence. You’renot even willing to entertain the idea that... maybe...?

Nope.

But you text the number back anyways, and play along.

                                                                                                                                               **Yeah, just... checking up on you** [sent 12:22]

 _Creepy_ , you chide.

 **2874004961: ** **���  �  ���**  
**��  ���  ��**  
**�  �����  �**  
**������******    [sent 12:23]

You stare at your screen. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting in response, but... it definitely wasn’t that.  

The number doesn’t text you again immediately after the odd... square-thing, and you’re also not sure how to proceed, so you do what you know best.

You leave the message on read.

* * *

 **0372875082: �** [sent 7:37am]

 **?** [sent 2:57pm]

[read 2:58pm]

* * *

For a couple of weeks, you continue on as if nothing occurring was out of the ordinary. You carry on with your life; you speak with friends and family, you do your work, clean your room – the usual.

Everyone that you had previously confided in about the odd texts has now assumed they’ve ceased (given that you no longer speak of them). Friends and family alike have not brought it up, and you don’t feel compelled to explain what’s going on, so... it just...

stops.

Granted, everything in your life now _was_ mostly normal; it’s just that... sometimes you entertained weird strangers via text on the downlow.

You didn’t talk to all the strangers, though; you were somewhat selective in who you spoke to. At minimum, you opened every message and read them – but you also randomly picked some numbers to hold conversations with.

If pressed and asked why you chose those numbers in particular... you probably wouldn’t have a straight answer; there wasn’t any connection between the numbers, and none of them had the same style or way of communication either. Some sent more pictures than others, some wrote paragraphs, others were... eccentric. The only thing that almost every number had in common was that they all greeted you first and were thankful for _something_. For being you. For being there. Who knows?

Your current objective was to gain their trust, and try to get any sort of identifying information from them. So far, you hadn’t had much luck; you had asked – on three separate occasions and from three different numbers – for a name or general location.

All three had vanished.

Even worse, they stopped looking at the messages you sent – no more read receipts for you. Never in your life did you imagine you’d be thinking this, but... you hated it when you were no longer left on read. It made that awful anxious feeling that had come to roost in your gut these last few months flare up. All the numbers (when they did not respond) at least read your texts; you were never ignored.

You added the three numbers who had seemingly dropped off the edge of the earth to your limited list of favorite contacts, just in case they spoke up again.

Other than those numbers, however, there were a few more that you ended up having actual conversations with. With these numbers, you were extra careful. Careful not to ask too many questions, careful to take things slow, careful to never reveal information about yourself, and careful to play the benevolent being that they thought you were.

Honestly, it terrified you. Sometimes they sounded so... hurt. Scared. Lost. It was muted – like they were trying to cover it up... but... you could tell. And you’d be lying if you said you weren’t going about your days and nights without some amount of anxiety; for yourself... for them...

It’s hard to tell.

* * *

 **(2) New Messages from** **0372875082**

 **0372875082: What now?**  
**0372875082: I ���** [sent 4:14am]

 **I don’t know...  
                                                                                                                             What are you talking about ** [undelivered]

 **0372875082: Please. Tell me. I don’t know wh�t to do.** [sent 7:32am]

 **What’s wrong???** [undelivered]

You frown in confusion at exclamation point marking your messages as undelivered.

They don’t respond.

* * *

Of all the numbers, you find yourself speaking to the 4004 one the most; it seemed more open than the rest. For the past few weeks you had been trying to earn their trust and get them to a point where you could ask for their name or... some other piece of information. 

You still haven’t grown used to how quickly they (and the other numbers) respond – like they have their phone up and open every second of the day. You’ve even texted them at weird hours in the morning to see if they answer just as quickly then. For the most part, they always reply within ten seconds.

There had only been one incident where the 4004 number did not instantly respond; it had occurred a few days ago, when you had asked them what they were trying to say.

 The conversation seemed to have, for whatever reason, had made the unknown contact... angry? Upset somehow. You couldn’t understand why, it was a harmless clarification.

It was a weird box thing, and...

You frown pensively as you try to recall what was said. Luckily, you still have all your texts, so you’re able to just scroll back in time to the offending chat.

 **2874004961: Hello!** [sent 6:00am]

 **Hey  
                                                                                                                                                                       How’s it going? ** [sent 9:13am]

 **2874004961: Better! Better now that we are talking!** [sent 9:13am]

 **Why? Was it not good before now?** [sent 10:17am]

 **2874004961: Oh� no, it��� was fine.** [sent 10:18am]

 **You sure?** [sent 10:18am]

 **2874004961: ���es��** [sent 10:18am]

 **Huh?** [sent 10:19am]

 **2874004961: **���  �  ���**  
**��  ���  ��**  
**�  �����  �**  
**������  
**  **  
**2874004961: Hone�t** [sent 12:23pm]

 **I don’t understand what you’re saying** [sent 12:23pm]

[read 12:23pm]

Apparently, that made them upset because for the first time ever, this number in particular left you on read and refused to respond – even after you texted them three more times (it would have been four, but you deleted the last one that consisted of you apologizing).

So here you are now. You aren’t able to get them to answer, and sending more messages seems creepy.

You’re torn between really wanting them to text you again, and the relief that you’ve finally gotten what you’ve wanted for so long – silence.

 _Why can’t I have nice things_.

* * *

You wait a few more days. When the number still hasn’t responded, you give up. It’s Friday, after all, and after a long and thoroughly eventful week, you should be able to just relax and flop onto the couch.

There are even a few options waiting for you; you can go out, stay in, watch TV, play that new game-

 _Oh yeah_.

You stare at the controller next to the TV for a second. The strangeness of the kitchen photograph and the game hasn’t been in the forefront of your mind for a while, but... it _has_ been on the backburner, lurking, and weirding you out at the most unexpected times.

You assess how you feel about the situation.

You decide to pick up the game again, in the end. While you definitely still feel slightly uncomfortable, you find yourself settling on the decision that it was definitely just a coincidence. It’s just a game, and you really do want to finish its story after all.

From the menu, you look at the flowcharts. Apparently, there is a new character that you will be playing as this time.

You hit continue.

His name is Markus, and for a while, you’re happy just to move him around the world and get him to interact with everything in it. You skim the fancy magazine, frown at the jogger, listen to music, listen to the preacher, buy paint... get pushed around...

Despite the story being a bit... heavy handed with some of the connections it tries to draw, you still find yourself feeling sad for Markus and the rest of the androids.

In the back of your mind, however, you’re also relieved to see that nothing in this piece of story matches any of the pictures you’ve received.

But obviously it wouldn’t anyways, because it’s all just a coincidence.

 _Right_? Right.

A buzz in your pocket alerts you to a text.

 **(1) New Message from** **2874004961**

 _Oh, it’s you,_ you think. _Hey 4004_.

It’s been a few days since they’ve left you on read. Secretly, you’re glad that the number has decided to text you again – you’ve been worrying about them, and afraid they would become missing anon number four.

You unlock the screen and check your messages.

 **2874004961: I made you something.** [sent 11:30pm]

 _Oh no_. For reasons unknown, your mind immediately conjures up a picture of an alter and human sacrifices.

_Play it cool, we just need their trust._

You put down the controller and devote both hands to your phone.

 **Yeah?** [sent 11:31pm]

You type out apprehensively. The number, like most times, responds at the speed of light.

 **2874004961: I figured... maybe... maybe I would**  
                        **make more sense if I wrote it down?**  
**I know there is something...**  
**wrong with my head, so maybe...**  
**Maybe it would be clearer if I wrote it out.** [sent 11:31pm]

 _Oh god they’ve written something in blood._ Also, what are they talking about?

 **2874004961: (Image)** [sent 11:32pm]

You stare at the picture. It was taken at eye-level (again), and was aimed at a wall with outdated, stained, and peeling paint. On it, a single ‘RA9’ written – no, _carved_ –into the brick.

 _What_.

 **2874004961: (Image)** [sent 11:32pm]

A close up of the same picture, on the number nine. There were dozens of scratches within the number – and probably the letters too. Is this what they had been up to while they had been silent? The letters and scratches gave off a frantic, desperate vibe.

 _What the heck are you trying to say?_ You wonder.

They wanted you to understand... something. Badly. (Or else they really wanted to creep you out).

_Play along._

You concentrate on the things that you thought you had figured out about this number so far.

They were lonely; they had said as much numerous times... but they also spoke as if there was something else that made them feel slightly less lonely (besides you). They thought something was wrong with them... they thought their mind was broken. They were obsessed with you. Something had made them upset, and you (for God knows what reason) are able to make them feel better.

 _Ugh_ , you did not want to be responsible for another person’s emotional well-being, _especially_ one who seemed slightly unhinged (and probably knows where you live and will definitely kill you one day, obviously).

 _If I sent fanart to my crush, what would I want them to say?_ You wonder.

 **It’s beautiful. You’re so creative.  
                                                                                                                                                                Thank you. ** [sent 11:33pm]

 _Honestly_. You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment even though no one’s there to see what you’ve said, or what you’re doing.

You hope you’re doing the right thing.

 **2874004961: ** ** **���  �  ���**  
**��  ���  ��**  
**�  �����  �**  
**������********     [sent 11:33pm]

Damnit not the stupid square again.

 **2874004961: Sorry I jus�t. Thank you. Thankyou.  
                      Thanky�uTha�kyoutha��youth�n���u ** [sent 11:34pm]

Creeped out, you leave the anonymous individual on read, and turn back to the game.

* * *

Kara comes next.

You pause briefly for some snacks, then sit back down. You watch the intro, and move her into her home. If Markus’s introduction had made you feel uncomfortable, Kara’s made you slightly sick. _Todd_ made you slightly sick. You hope her story ends happily, whatever it may look like.

Her section of the introduction takes longer than you expected (compared to Markus and Connor’s chapters, anyways). The end with the music box serves as another reminder that in this world, Kara and her kind are little more than tools.

You glance at the time, and decide to play one more chapter before bed.

Markus.

 _Oh dear_. And Leo.

The end of his chapter shocks you, and you wonder if you made the wrong choice. Is there an option where Markus doesn’t die?

The flowchart informs you that there is... but it’s hidden.

You leave it for another day. You’re tired.

* * *

That night, something hunts you down in your dreams. You wake up with a jerk and whimper, drenched in sweat. You recognize the remnants of a nightmare, but you can’t pin down what it was. What was happening. Who was there. All you feel now is the relief of knowing that it is over.

You fluff your pillow and lie back down, intending on immediately falling sleep. At that moment, next to you, your phone lights up and informs you that its charge is complete.

You reach out and flip it over.

In the morning, you blame the conversation on the busyness of the week that you’ve just endured, and the lateness of the hour that you went to bed after playing the game for so long.

 _Just be blunt_ , your sleep-addled 3AM mind had instructed you. _You’ve been talking for how long now?_

You agree, and sleepily pick up your phone.

 **So... have you got a name besides 2874004961,  
****or do you just want me to keep thinking of you  
****as a number for forever?** [sent 2:49am]

 **2874004961: Oh, I... h�ven’t thought of...** [sent 2:49am]

Of course they’re awake.

 _Haven’t thought of what_? You wonder.

Whatever it was, the number didn’t finish the thought, and you’re left staring at the nothingness.

 **Can I just give you one?** [sent 2:50am]

You ask, frustrated and tired.

 **2874004961: ** ** **���  �  ���**  
**��  ���  ��**  
**�  �����  �**  
**������******    **[sent 2:51am]

You hate that stupid square and whatever it means.

 **I’m gonna name you...** [sent 2:52am]

You squint into the blinding light of your phone and try to think of a name that matches the numbers... oddly innocent (yet slightly unsettling) personality.

* * *

Your phone is on silent for most of the day. You don’t see the text that comes through until the evening...

Not that it matters.

 **0372875082: HELP ME.** [sent 9:21am]

 **WHAT** [undelivered]

 **0372875082: Plea�e, where are y�u?** [sent 1:07am]

 **Why isn’t anything going through???** [undelivered]

 **0372875082: Pleas�...** [sent 9:08am]

 **Hello???** [undelivered] **  
Hello?????????** [undelivered] **  
Are you there?** [undelivered] **  
**   Hello? [undelivered]

* * *

In the darkness of the dilapidated apartment, an android sits stock still under a window. The moon shines in and paints the floors, walls, and inhabitants in a pale white glow. From inside this room, the world sounds quiet, distant, and calm.

Abruptly, his LED spins red, bathing everything to his right in an eerie glow. The world stays silent.

He mulls the name over in his mind, mouth tugging up into a small grin.

 _Rupert_.

He likes it. He smiles wider, feels his hands twitch.

_Rupert. Rupert Rupert Rupert Rupert. Me. I am Rupert. That is who I am._

He has the sudden urge to do something with his hands. He doesn’t know what, but he wants to... he wants...

He wants to write it out, again and again and again and again _and again_.

He writes his name in his jacket,

and he writes your name on the walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We about to confuse the hecking heck outta everyone from Amanda to the DPD interns >:) poor Connors gonna have a lot on his hands witchu

**Author's Note:**

> How late to the party am i lol


End file.
